The Curious Incident of the Owl in the Night Time
by SeductiveSlytherin
Summary: A dead owl, a suddenly aquired addiction, young love and rekindled love prove that every DADA teacher brings trouble- and this time it's with a capital 'T' an eventful year for all..SS? HP? RL? DM?


The Curious Incident of the Owl in the Night-time.

Part One The night before.

#Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away. Now it looks as though they're here to stay#

The moon shone in long, bright bars across the uneven floor of the portrait room as Professor Snape paced back down its length for what seemed to be the hundredth time. Irritably, he checked the gleaming face of a great grandfather clock behind him- damn it, there was still twenty minutes to fill before he was off duty for the night. It was Saturday- his turn for the late patrol, and how it ruined the little peace he maintained when out of teaching obligations.

Turning back to pace the room, he stopped mid-stride and stared in surprise at a small, unmoving lump about a dozen feet in front of him, causing a great dark gash of shadow in a bar of moonlight.

It had not been there a minute ago, he was sure of it. And the far door hadn't been ajar either. Slightly unnerved and very irritated now, he started towards the lump in a great amount of curiosity. If this was the pranking of any student, they had picked the wrong night to have their fun on, he would make sure they realised that.

But upon reaching the lump he concluded this was not the work of any student. A dead owl lay there, pale feathers glowing eerily in the moonlight flowing on it, eyes wide and glassy and creamy belly feathers stained crimson by the growing pool of clotting blood leaking from it. Kneeling beside it he searched for a wound, checking under the limp wings and the stained belly but upon checking its head, found two seeping holes leaking the warm fluid onto the floor. Two tiny, swollen punctures were visible on the plumaged neck where the feathers had been ripped out messily and many still hung by the very tip giving the owl a ruff which Snape had mistaken for the natural feather presentation of many owls.

Very suddenly, As he took his now sticky fingers from the dead birds neck, he became aware of a figure very close behind him yet he could see no shadow on the floor beside his own. He counted to three slowly in his head and then shot for his wand but a pair of terribly strong arms circled his waist as he tried to turn and flung him several feet from the owls body and a weight was on him before he had recovered.

He felt his wrists grabbed in a crushing grip and tugged sharply out in front of him so he was in a sort of prayer position on his knees, head down and arms out in front. He began fighting against the attacker but found his awkward position and their strength prevented any movement. He felt a cool breeze hit his shoulder as his robes were torn roughly down the right side of his neck down to his upper arm and struggled fiercely once more as hot breath blew in short, harsh gasps over the newly exposed flesh.

A growl from behind and he felt a surge of pain jolt from the juncture of his neck and shoulder as something very sharp was driven in deep. It stung like hell, worse than anyrthing he had known before making his eyes water and his whole body to contract in a spasm of pain. When the pain was reaching the dizzying heights of the Cruciatus Curse and Snape felt he couldn't take any more it began to ebb away slightly, sweet numbness taking its place yet he was aware of the wound in his neck beginning to pulsate and the horrible feeling of something being drawn from him.

His assailant curved their body around his limp form and began to thrust with their hips in time with every pulsation of his wound which in turn jolted his neck harder against the fangs embedded inside him. As the fangs were forced deeper and deeper, Snape felt the pure, raw animal instinct that was driving this attack- indeed, he had the distinct sensation of a bitch being fucked by her mate.

Finally, with a great, aching pull the penetrating fangs were withdrawn and Snape felt hot, wet blood dribble down his neck and onto his ripped robes. Warm and wet rubbed roughly over the now stinging wound and the bleeding stopped- the pain eased.

Snape found the numbness had not worn off yet and he cursed as the door shut quietly before he could look at his assailant.

After several minutes, he was able to flop onto his back drawing in shaky, gasping breaths as th moonlight continued to pour in on him.

Twenty-Four Hours Later...Exactly..

# I have to be with you- to live, to breathe, you're taking over me.#

Severus Snape tossed in his narrow bed, the covers long since kicked off. He felt feverish and so hot although his body was shivering terribly. His night-shirt stuck to his thin frame with sweat and was bunched awkwardly around his hips and thighs from his rolling and writhing.

He had woken with an urgent, primal need throbbing in his neck. The tiny punctures he had soothed with ointment all day had swollen vividly in the last five minutes and were throbbing and aching to be touched.

A tension was building in his body and instinctively he reached up to his hot, tingling neck and began to rub the wounds softly, crying out with the instant if minimal satisfaction. He rubbed harder now, nails scratching as his body arched but it still wasn't enough- they ached to be touched deeper.

Whimpering in frustration, he tried to slip his slim fingertips in the holes but to no avail. He needed tose fangs in him again, he though, deliriously.

Flipping onto his stomach he moaned into his pillow, hand rubbing the now ultra sensitive wounds fast and hard but he just couldn't hit the right spot. In his delirious state he almost didn't realise a weight settle on his back as some one straddled his hot, damp form until they reached down to knock his fumbling fingers away and give the swollen punctures the attention they craved. Sinking into the pillow, arms limp by his head Snape pushed against the cool fingers. A soft, metallic voice whispered gently in his ear. A woman's voice.

"I could smell your wanting, your need from miles away, and oh my how you need this." Her fingertips gently traced the burning hot rims of the wounds and he gasped.

His night shirt was tugged loose and pulled down his arm, the whole of his neck revealed to the chill night air. Then slowly, too slowly for the desperate man, the fangs were eased back into the open wounds and as they hit that spot at the end of their length Snape felt his body buck and the tension snap, a thick, dizzying pleasure dimming his thoughts until he slipped away into darkness.


End file.
